


Love with Every Stranger

by FrenchTwistResistance



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I just want caos to be a sitcom where hot middle-aged ladies kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchTwistResistance/pseuds/FrenchTwistResistance
Summary: Hilda’s acting just marginally differently.





	Love with Every Stranger

Zelda starts off just making mental notes, but she makes so many that she can hardly sort them anymore and has to start writing them down. She doesn’t name the little moleskin notebook because she would feel too ridiculous and obsessive and possessive if she had something lying around with a big sticker on the front that said “New and Rather Suspicious Things about Hildie” for just anyone to stumble upon. Satan, what would that hypothetical just anyone say about that? Surely that just anyone would say, “Get a hobby, weirdo.” But she has a hobby, she supposes, and it’s observing Hilda. Triple fuck, it’s stupid and she wishes she could stop.

First, Hilda’s wearing a new apron.

That one isn’t so strange. It’s the same style as her old ones, and sometimes a woman needs a new apron. But this one is red and has tiny black hearts and ravens all over it in an understated pattern. Cutesy but dark cutesy. A little different than her usual but not different enough to immediately arouse suspicion. Hilda hasn’t said anything about it, hasn’t said she’d been shopping. She’s usually chatty about that sort of thing.

Second, Hilda’s not been so chatty lately. Sure, there’s the weather, there’s Sabrina. But she hasn’t been asking about what’s happening in the newspaper Zelda’s reading or wondering aloud about new recipes or getting too invested in prime time soaps and recapping them to an apathetic Zelda. Instead, she’s staring off dreamily at the counter after lunch and then saying, “I’ve got some errands to run. Love you, bye!” And leaving for hours.

Third, she’s wearing red lipstick to go the farmers market on Saturday morning and not inviting anyone to go with her. Both anomalies on their own, but taken together an even bigger anomaly. And when she gets back—three hours later rather than her regular one and a half—she doesn’t have as much of a haul as usual. Just a few melons and leeks and a new handmade turquoise bracelet. Her lipstick is suspiciously perfect, as if it has been taken off and reapplied very recently.

Zelda starts writing things down the next week when Hilda says she’s going to a basketball game at Baxter High. Her stated reason is supporting Theo. But it’s suspiciously the only night that Sabrina has a prior commitment and will not be able to accompany her. Zelda does not like basketball, so she doesn’t know how long a game should last, but Hilda returns from it at just before 11pm. Again, her lipstick appears a little too perfect. She doesn’t read in bed as usual, just lies there with a smile on her face until she falls asleep.

The next afternoon there are fresh flowers in a cut glass vase on the dining table. Not weird. Hilda loves flowers and often picks some to display somewhere in the house, often the dining table. But they’re not flowers that grow on the property. And Zelda’s never seen that vase before. Nobody says anything about it.

And then the next week, she’s got a new dress, too. Still the same type of dress she always wears—although cut just a little more snugly, just a touch more flattering, just slightly lower cut but not revealing by any means. The only thing about it to call attention to it is that it’s a second new piece of clothing in a pretty short while, with no new charges to their shared JC Penney card. Also, Hilda is not showing it off and talking about it, asking whether it looks good on her. It’s as if she’s already done those things and knows just how good it looks on her, which is, admittedly, very. It looks very good on her, and she wears it as she says, “There’s a yarn sale the county over. Don’t wait up!” and blows a kiss to Zelda and Sabrina in the living room.

Zelda continues writing in her little Hilda diary—just quirks only she might observe, having known her so long and at such close proximity. It’s not so much irksome to her as a mystery to solve. A welcome distraction from the other stresses of her life. If Hilda’s got a beau or a hobby or whatever, good for her, but she’s a little sad she wouldn’t just tell her about it. Anyway, at least she’s got an intellectual exercise out of it.

The next week, she walks in on Hilda getting ready for the evening. She’d said she had plans but did not elaborate further. She’s in pretty lingerie—modest dark blue satin, not so different from her utilitarian cotton but definitely new and definitely a statement—rummaging through her desk drawer for a stack of cash. Zelda debates confronting her now or later about what in hell has been going on.

Hilda turns around, and they stare at each other a second. Then Hilda smiles, says,

“Hello, love. Would you do my hair tonight?” Zelda considers. Hilda is pretending nothing’s out of the ordinary. Zelda pretends, too. But she tries to manipulate just a tad:

“What style would you like?” Hilda doesn’t play ball.

“Oh anything you choose. You know what flatters me.”

Zelda doesn’t try any further, just sets to work silently with the curling iron.

She does a crossword puzzle and drinks a little too much as Hilda goes out in fitted slacks and a gauzy blouse to wherever she’s going.

xxx

Hilda’s slot machine has hit free spins, and she’s clapping her hands and laughing about it. Mary Wardwell’s hand is on her thigh, and it squeezes gently in shared excitement, although her machine to the left of Hilda had devoured twenty of her dollars like a kid at a cobbler eating contest.

“I knew you’d be a good luck charm,” Hilda says. Mary kisses her cheek, says,

“I’ll blow on your dice anytime.” Hilda giggles.

Hilda cashes out—the free spins have her $60 up, and she likes to quit while she’s ahead—and they hit the casino buffet.

Mary’s absently poking at her slice of prime rib and staring at her.

“What?” Hilda says.

“What have you been telling your family you’ve been up to when you’re gone?”

“No one’s asked. So I haven’t told them anything.” Mary furrows her brow, and Hilda thinks about the two months or so they’ve been tentatively seeing each other. 

She’d come into Mary’s office one day to discuss something about Sabrina’s schooling and had been suddenly arrested by how attractive Mary was and how stressed out she looked. She’d forgotten what she’d been there to talk about and had accidentally asked her on a date instead. 

“Miss Wardwell,” she’d said. “You look like you could use a little fun. There’s a fair in the old mall parking lot. Want to play hookey and get some cotton candy with me?”

Mary had looked as surprised and confused to hear that as Hilda had felt letting it pop out of her mouth.

But they’d gone. And since then they’d gone a lot of other places, too. Just some afternoons of sharing a milkshake at a cafe, sharing popcorn at a basketball game, sharing honeycomb at the farmers market. Perusing albums at the second-hand record store. Fishing off a derelict dock at the old sandpit that’s now a little lake and dangling their feet in the water. Just low-key activities where they could enjoy each other’s company and make jokes and share a few mostly chaste kisses here and there. Mary likes to buy her presents, and Hilda likes to cook for her, vegetarian dishes she would never try on her own because of her penchant for red meat but enjoys anyway because Hilda knows how to make something hearty without it.

Hilda’s back in the present now, staring at Mary’s concerned face. It’s not the first time she’s looked into her eyes and thought there was something kind of off about her. She’d been so cagey about so many things about herself. But Hilda likes her anyway, especially after spending some actual time with her.

“You don’t think they’d feel a little betrayed?” Hilda finds it a strange question, doesn’t know what Mary’s getting at or how to respond. “You don’t think they suspect something untoward?”

“Just say you’re afraid of Zelda and get on with it.” Mary laughs once but then turns serious again, says,

“I’m afraid of Zelda’s reaction. She’s volatile. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Hilda rolls her eyes. Zelda’s a lot of things, and she appears to outside observers to be a lot more than what she actually is. If Hilda’d ever thought she’d be actually hurt by Zelda—a heat-of-the-moment killing easily remedied with magic soil notwithstanding—she’d have left long ago. What outside observers hardly understand is that she and Zelda like, support, and work well with each other. They don’t stay together because of duty and obligation but genuine fond companionship. So Hilda does not indulge Mary’s erroneous line of thought but says,

“What’s the point of this conversation? Do you want me to tell everyone we’re dating or not?”

Mary’s eyes flash. There’s something dark in them, and Mary leans over the table to say quietly,

“I was under the impression we might have sex tonight. And I think sneaking around about that might get dicey sooner rather than later.” Hilda swallows hard, and Mary continues, “Sneaking off to ride a Ferris wheel or share a club sandwich and walk through the botanical gardens is one thing. Sneaking off to—say—fuck in my office is quite another.” Hilda swallows again.

“Uh. What gave you that impression?” Sure, she’d meant to give that impression but being confronted with it in such a way. Not as organic as she’d imagined.

“I can see all the way down your blouse.” Hilda's hand instinctively drops her fork and goes to her décolletage.

“Uh well.” She’s flustered. Mary’s right. She’s right about the feeling of betrayal. Nobody at Spellman Mortuary quite trusts Mary after all her dodgey answers to questions about where she came from and what her interest is in any of them. But she’s also right about the blouse and what she’d intended when she’d picked it.

“So?” Mary says.

“You’re right. I should say something.”

“But was I right about—” She raises an eyebrow suggestively. “—the other thing?”

“Um. Yes.” Mary smiles, says,

“I guess it goes without saying we should go to my place instead of yours.” Hilda laughs.

xxx

They’d kept the conversation on the half hour car ride to Mary’s cabin light, discussing favorite slot machines and strange people they’d seen playing them, the quality of the buffet, what they might want to do on their next date—Mary had expressed interest in borrowing or renting a motorcycle and going on a day trip, and Hilda had wanted to visit some museums in Boston. They had decided they could combine those.

But as they reach the edge of the wood, Mary turns the conversation slightly, comments on Hilda’s outfit:

“I had expected you to wear the dress I bought you.”

“You’ve already seen me in that. I wanted to surprise you. You’re not disappointed, are you?”

Mary laughs, takes Hilda’s hand.

“If I’d known how well you wear slacks, I might’ve bought you something else.”

Hilda laughs, squeezes Mary’s hand.

“I’m just upset I couldn’t ever buy you something better than what you already wear.” Mary looks over at her in the passenger seat.

“You like what I wear?” Hilda looks her up and down. Mary’s in a deep blue wrap dress, tight and clinging and short and almost the exact shade of her own lingerie.

“Who wouldn’t?” Hilda says. Mary turns into her gravel drive, says,

“Thank you. But I think I might be more interested in what you don’t wear.”

Hilda blushes as Mary cuts the engine. They’re silent as they enter the cottage. Silent and blushing and brushing against each other deliberately but pretending it’s accidental.

Mary hangs their coats on the rack in the hall and then says,

“Would you like a nightcap?”

“Sure,” Hilda says, sitting on the divan primly. Mary puts a record on—it’s one she’d bought at the second-hand shop when they’d gone there together. Lushly orchestrated ‘60s exotica lounge. And Hilda relaxes a little into the cushion behind her as Mary pours them both drinks.

Mary hands her a highball glass full of indeterminate liquor, says,

“It’s a delight having you over.” She sits on the divan, close but not touching.

“It’s a delight to be here,” Hilda says. She takes a drink. It’s not very sweet and not very strong. The liquor in it is gin, but other than that, she can’t really identify anything.

“I’ve really enjoyed our time together,” Mary says.

“When you say it that way, it sounds like you’re breaking up with me.” Mary laughs and sets her drink on the coffee table without having even tasted it. She then leans closer and cups Hilda’s face, says,

“I didn’t bring you home just to tell you I don’t want you.”

They stare at each other. Hilda clears her throat and twists away to set her drink on the coffee table as well. She then takes the hand that had so recently been on her face and replaces it there, resumes staring into Mary’s eyes, says,

“To be clear, you do want me?” Mary nods. Hilda croaks, “I want you, too.”

Mary kisses her. It’s gentle, like the other times they’ve kissed. Mary’s tongue snakes into her mouth. That’s gentle, too, and like a few other times they’ve kissed. But then Mary bites her lower lip. It’s not hard, but it’s different. Hilda opens her eyes, finds Mary’s eyes already open.

“I want you very much,” Mary says.

“Would you rather have me in your bedroom?” Hilda says.

“Yes. Very much,” Mary says. She takes Hilda’s hand and leads her down the hall.

Once there, just inside the threshold, Mary turns and presses her body against Hilda’s, kisses her forcefully. It’s Hilda’s tongue this time that invades Mary’s mouth. And Mary’s tongue is soon answering. Their bodies are moving against each other, and their tongues are also moving against each other. Mary slides an arm between them and begins unbuttoning Hilda’s blouse.

“I’ve been fantasizing about doing this since I first saw you tonight,” Mary says.

“I’ve been fantasizing about your doing this since I decided on wearing this blouse yesterday,” Hilda says.

Mary pulls back. Her dark, dangerous, off eyes look into Hilda’s eyes. Mary says,

“It turns me on that you’re so competitive. But rest assured I’ve wanted you much longer than you’ve wanted me.” Hilda scoffs. But then she figures it doesn’t matter who’s desired whom for how long. It matters only who desires whom right now. That’s what her wet, hot cunt is saying, anyhow. She plays it safe and close to the vest:

“Just fuck me already.”

Mary unties her wrap dress, lets it fall to the floor to reveal her red lingerie. And she’s again on Hilda, kissing her mouth and stroking her sides, then finishing unbuttoning her blouse.

“Please,” Hilda says,

So Mary does. She inserts a finger and then two. She fucks Hilda. She makes love to Hilda.

They moan and sigh and writhe together in Mary’s bed.

Mary’s mouth is so skillful.

Hilda’s mouth learns quickly.

They lie together, mutually content. And then Mary says,

“I’d love for you to stay, but you ought to get home.”

xxx

Zelda’s scribbling away at her Hilda journal—now it’s just drunken, rambling theories rather than concrete observations—when Hilda silently enters the house at 2am. 

She might’ve expected for Zelda to wait up and pretend she hadn’t been waiting—perhaps playing something on the piano and claiming she’d let time get away from her, or reading in bed with the same claim. She certainly hadn’t expected Zelda to be sitting in the dim breakfast nook writing in a small notebook.

“Hi,” Hilda says a little too brightly.

“Have fun?” Zelda tries not to slur. She pauses mid-sentence and shuts the moleskin with her pen inside it marking her place.

“Yes,” Hilda says. “Awfully tired, though.” She tries to continue toward the stairs, but Zelda says,

“Come tell about your evening.”

“It’ll keep till morning,” Hilda says.

“I don’t think it will,” Zelda says a little more darkly than she’d intended. She’d meant to sound as if she was simply interested in her sister’s life. But she’d inadvertently made it sound like a threat. Regardless, it works, and Hilda sits in a chair opposite her, folds her hands on the table, sits up straight and nervous, says,

“Um well. I went to a casino.” Zelda figures she’ll lean into the threatening vibe. Might as well since she’s already there and it’s already working.

“Yes. I can smell the smoke on you. You also had sex with someone. I can smell that on you, too.”

Hilda flinches, clears her throat.

“Yes. Um well. I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed.”

“You wouldn’t like to tell me anything else?”

“I won at the casino. Sixty bucks.” She stands and continues, “It’s Mary Wardwell. We’re dating.” She then turns and ascends the stairs.

Zelda rocks back in her chair, flabbergasted. But then she looks over her notes. Hmm. Wardwell. She supposes that tracks.


End file.
